


Everything That's On Your Heart

by samalander



Category: ST:AOS - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samalander/pseuds/samalander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is cooking; Bones is worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything That's On Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So I was driving home last night and [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZo-_OM5rF4) comes on the radio. When it was over, I picked up my iPod and recorded ten minutes of myself telling a story. If you want to hear that track, you can download it [here](http://www.mediafire.com/?5m63mibt2il2nc9) but be warned, my windshield wipers sound like farts.  
> Anyway, I got home and started transcribing, and this is what came out of it.  
> Title from Steve Holy's "Love Don't Run".  
> 

_**FIC: Everything That's On Your Heart**_  
 **Title:** Everything That's On Your Heart  
 **Author:** [](http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/profile)[**_samalander**](http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/)  
 **Fandom:** ST:AOS  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Wordcount:** 1,486  
 **Warnings:** Cussing.  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Kirk/McCoy, Chekov/Sulu  
 **Summary:** Jim is cooking; Bones is worried.  
 **Notes:** So I was driving home last night and [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZo-_OM5rF4) comes on the radio. When it was over, I picked up my iPod and recorded ten minutes of myself telling a story. If you want to hear that track, you can download it [here](http://www.mediafire.com/?5m63mibt2il2nc9) but be warned, my windshield wipers sound like farts.  
Anyway, I got home and started transcribing, and this is what came out of it.  
Title from Steve Holy's "Love Don't Run".  
 **Disclaimer:** Star Trek is property of people who are not me.

When he gets home, Jim is cooking a chicken, which is the first sign that something is wrong. Jim only cooks when something is wrong, or someone is hurt, or there's bad news, which is why as Leonard toes off his boots, he calls out to the kitchen.

"Jim? You cookin'?"

The reply comes tripping back through the house, "Hey Bones!" Which isn't an answer, per se, but he supposes it means Jim is still breathing so, that's something. Or not.

He pads his way up the stairs and into the kitchen where Jim, in all his glory, is pulling a chicken out of the oven, gleefully decked out in a pink, ruffly apron Pike gave him for his last birthday and grinning his idiot grin.

"Roasted chicken. Rosemary, with mustard. Just like you like."

Bones smiles because it _is_ just what he likes and Jim knows that after twenty years together, serving on planets and in space and everywhere in between. "And collard greens, and rice, and there might be- I don't want to get your hopes up-" There is a smile in Jim's voice, and Leonard can't help but react to that smile, the smile that has bewitched him for so many years, so he smiles back as Jim says, "-but there might be a blueberry pie involved. No promises."

He laughs because it's funny. It's funny how Jim thinks he can still pull one over on Leonard, how he thinks that he doesn't know when there's something wrong. So he laughs and he sits down at the table behind some kind of fuzzy green monstrosity of a salad that Jim has put together that probably has things like _endive_ in it that neither of them likes but Jim makes it because Chekov or Uhura says "Endive is really _in_ this season," and Jim feels that his Bones deserves what's _in_. So he makes the salad and they both grimace at the bitterness of the leaves but they eat anyway because it's what polite people do.

They eat the first course with vapid chitchat about this one's dog and that one's promotion, and Jim clears the plates when they're done. Leonard's still waiting for him to make the first move, to break the silence, to tell him what the fancy meal is for.

Jim brings the second course to the table, and Leonard smiles because damn but that is a lot of food. But he doesn't say anything because, well, Jim cooked and it's sweet. Jim slides the -surprisingly healthful, for Captain Saturated Fats- meal in front of Bones and looks at him like he needs approval. But Jim Kirk doesn't need anyone's approval.

"So," Jim has never quite grown out of talking with his mouth full, but some things can become endearing in time. Leonard hopes there's still time. "Heard from the 'Fleet today."

"Oh." It's always the 'Fleet. It's always the fucking 'Fleet coming between the two of them. "And uh," Leonard feigns indifference as he pokes his collard greens because his appetite seems to have gone the way of the humpback whale with those five words, but he pretends, for Jim. "And what do you hear?"

"They're re-upping me," Jim says, and Leonard puts his fork down.

"They're re- _what_ ing you?"

"Look, I can't tell you the details-"

"Because some of us never made commander?"

Jim smiles his sad little boy smile and those blue eyes shoot straight through Leonard, turning the bitter endive in his stomach to sour water.

"Neither of us ever made commander," Jim mutters, staring at his plate. His appetite seems to be gone, too. "Just, some of us made Admiral. Eventually."

Leonard reaches across the table and puts his hand over Jim's, because that's what you do when you've been in a relationship with someone for twenty years and they don't want you to be mad at them.

"So what does this mean?" Leonard asks, because he's content. He's happy on the ground, he's with Starfleet medical, where he should be, and he doesn't need to go gallivanting around the universe like he's nineteen.

Which he never did at nineteen, anyway, because he was working in a hospital where he belongs. But Jim belongs to the stars and Jim has always belonged to the stars and Leonard knows that, no matter what he does, Jim will return to his stars.

"It's the _Excelsior_ ," Jim tells him, and Leonard holds up a hand.

"You can't tell me."

"I can't tell you as an officer of the 'Fleet, but I can tell you as your husband."

Leonard's mouth goes dry because they don't use that word. They've decided not to get married. They decided fifteen years ago that it was an antiquated tradition and most people didn't bother anymore, anyway. Most people don't put rings on and make promises at to have and to hold because what's the point?

But sometimes Jim uses it for how he feels about Leonard, and every time it knocks him through a loop. Because Jim feels forever, he says. And maybe Leonard will never feel that again, that feeling of _forever_ , in your bones. So to speak. But he allows Jim the indulgence, lets "husband" and "sweetie" and "love" trip off that honeyed tongue. Leonard doesn't use nicknames; he's always Jim, perfect, lovely, annoying Jim.

"Alright." Leonard pokes the chicken with his fork. "What about the _Excelsior_?"

"Sulu's ship," Jim offers, and Bones shoots him a look like, _Jim, I'm in the goddamn Fleet too._

"It's, well, not where it should be and... Chekov hasn't heard anything for weeks."

Leonard shakes his head because this is what he's always feared for those two; little flyboys going off to be captains on separate ships. One of them was bound to get lost. And now Chekov's in the Mutara Nebula, plotting new courses for interstellar shipping and Sulu is on the other side of the quadrant, exploring the Great Unknown.

And it's not like Chekov can just take his ship over to see Sulu for a rendezvous; they see each other once a year, if that. They'd also decided not to get married, but for different reasons. Because a year is a long time to be apart when you feel that way. (They do feel that way, Leonard knows it, they just don't know about it yet.)

So he shakes his head in the space it takes to think all that, and he says, "They want you to find him?"

Jim shrugs again, and Leonard thinks he must have some very impressive shoulder muscles with all this 'Gee-I-don't-know' bullshit he's pulling. And it's endearing, goddamnit, it's _fucking_ endearing and Leonard can't stand it because what the fuck Jim, why does this happen now, why to them? Why did he marry the goddamn golden boy of the Fleet and twenty years-

Did he think _marry_?

It occurs to him in a moment- it all occurs in a moment, because he's Leonard H. Fucking McCoy and he doesn't sit staring at his hands waiting for words, he spits and snarls and _feels_ -and he looks at Jim and he says, "Okay."

Because he's just figured it out. He's just figured out that they're _married_ , rings and vows be damned, and they're in love and they're forever. And, if this is Jim's last mission? If this is the one he doesn't come back from? Then this is the one.

And the worst thing Leonard thinks he could do is let Jim go without knowing that his _husband_ is waiting.

"You go. You go and you save some lives and I will be here when you get back and you will owe me _incredible_ sex."

Jim laughs, he smiles and Leonard feels the weight of the conversation lift from his shoulders because he's not mad, and Jim isn't scared and they'll get through this like they've gotten through everything else, like they dealt with Spock's death, like they dealt with Janice Lester, like they've dealt with the universe for the past twenty years. And he takes Jim's hand and says, "I love you."

And Jim squeezes his hand and says, "I love you, too, Bones."

Jim picks up his fork and Leonard thinks, 'How can he eat? How can he eat at a time like this?'

But Jim says, "Blueberry pie."

And he smiles.

And Leonard is in love with this insane, beautiful, wonderful man. And even if he's going off to save the whole goddamn universe and leaving the love of his life landlocked in a hospital, waiting for news like some kind of sad war widow, standing on the cliffs watching for ships? Well, by God, Leonard will turn into a pillar of salt.

Because Jim is worth waiting for. It's worth waiting for blueberry pie, for smiling eyes, and the warmth that is James T. Kirk.


End file.
